


The rush of colors and acid rain

by vmprsm



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Oneshot, bartender!Kylo, dance club fic, do not assume i know anything about the military or alcohol, loosely based on real places, military!hux, you know you wanted one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6263917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vmprsm/pseuds/vmprsm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux, not yet a general but a young Naval officer, is forced out to a club, and meets a very (damnably) attractive bartender.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The rush of colors and acid rain

The club was dim, grungy, pulsing with loud music, and certainly not anywhere Hux wanted to be at 10:00 on a Friday night. 

Empire was a goth and industrial club in the buzzing center of one of the biggest cities in Florida. Even though it was surrounded by skyscrapers and other clubs that were more brightly lit and outwardly inviting, Empire had a draw that kept patrons returning. The two story building was designed to look like a huge, dark manor, with arched double doors, ornate windows, and artificially aged stonework. Well, it may be only partially artificial, Hux mused as he trailed his fingers down it. They had been waiting in line for ten minutes, which was ten too many. 

“Why are we here again?” he asked, eyes tracing cracks in the rock.

“Don't be a stiff, man.” One of his supposed friends moaned, elbowing him hard in the arm. “We only have a few weekends away from work, you gotta go out and get some girls.”

Hux rolled his eyes. Girls, sure. “I'm not sure anyone here is going to be your type.” His fellow new officers had a football type physique and the mentality to match. That’s not to say they weren't competent and intelligent, but...their personalities could be off putting. 

“Nonsense!” Another man, Andron, maybe, barked. “I used to date chicks like this in high school.” 

A quiet snort huffed near Hux’s ear, and he turned his head to the source. Phasma stood behind him, still and silent as a statue. He thought that maybe she had a bit of marble in her bloodstream, she was often so stoic. But there was no one else behind him, so she must have made the noise. She looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. He turned back.

He liked Phasma better than the men she hung out with. These were mostly her friends, and they had dragged him along tonight, citing his overly fond tendency of staying on base as a reason. She hadn't commented. They almost never talked, but the occurrences were always pleasantly simple and respectful.

The line finally moved as the doors opened, letting in the regular folk after the designated VIP hour. Hux internalized a sigh and followed the group as they filed in, shuffling around to find their identification. It was only a few hours, and then he could put this whole likely terrible experience behind him. 

X

The club was only casually gaudy on the inside, but surprisingly it had a comfortable atmosphere. The windows, both bay windows and the regular kind, were framed with dark velvety curtains in black or red. The couches were varied, within and between the five or so rooms available to wander, but had the general theme of looking inviting, dark, and well cushioned. People were already making use of them, either alone sitting like an ass in the middle of a couch, clearly begging for attention in revealing outfits, or in small groups, laughing and looking like regulars. Some more private bench areas against a wall in one room were surrounded by metal bars, giving the illusion of a prison cell. The walls and floors were, of course, painted black, sometimes decorated with art that barely deserved the label, in Hux’s opinion. 

Every room had a bar, unsurprisingly, and it was early enough in the night that they weren't yet swamped with patrons. After taking a half hour to roam the place, speaking far too loudly to each other about the decor and people while Hux sulked, he was dragged by his little party back downstairs to the main room. They swarmed towards the bar, which looked extremely well stocked. He’d seen a small upstairs bar that looked promising, he had eavesdropped while a woman talked to the bartender about drinks with flower flavors, but this bar simply looked like a normal club bar. Granted, the bottles weren't the lowest quality available, but it wasn't the Ritz either. Honestly, his parent’s bar was of higher quality, though that was to be expected from a millionaire couple.

He ended up at the back, watching placidly as Andron and Tarkin nudged each other for space at the bar. Phasma had disappeared, he noted, but she was a ghost regularly. The music was still making his chest vibrate slightly but down here it was more muted, and another DJ played more sensual tracks. He abandoned their mission to get drinks and wandered away, making a lazy circuit down the few steps and through the area. The room was like a cave, the bay seats being fake and more just little alcoves for couples to hide in. His impression of the place so far was not terrible, he was being blessedly left alone which was unusual in a club setting. The shrouded darkness was actually comforting, he felt as if he could be anonymous here and possibly even relax. 

His shoulders had been slackening of their own accord, but in the next few seconds they tightened again, sending a shiver down his spine and the hair on his nape standing up. Hux was an extremely observant man, he knew when he was being watched. He had managed to get directly across the room from his companions, and he looked in their direction to find a culprit. No, still trying to sort out drinks with a petite and flustered blonde bartender. Then who?

There, over Phasma’s newly reappeared shoulder, was a pair of eyes under dark hair. He couldn't tell the color in the dim lights, but they were trained on him. He narrowed his eyes in a glower, unwilling to break eye contact first. He didn't like being stared at, and he didn't like to lose what was now an impromptu staring competition. They were trapped for several seconds until Phasma shifted, leaning away to grab a glass.

Hux tried not to stare in earnest. It was a man, tall and dark and broad shouldered behind the bar, idly cleaning a glass with a hand towel while he gazed at Hux. That's what it was, gazing. He was intent but casual, spoken by the angle of his hips leaned up against the bar and the relaxed slant of his shoulders. His apron was black, circling his slim hips tightly and almost blending into the rest of his simple black attire and fuck, why was he staring at his body?

The response came, deeply unwanted: well, cause he’s hot. Damn.

Hux hadn't really gotten a chance to scrutinize the man’s face before he broke line of sight, quickly turning his head and making for the group, who had began looking for an open couch. He furiously pushed a blush from his cheeks and failed, thanking the red lighting of the room as he sat down.

He engaged in small talk with the three, trying to steer away from topics like hot girls and favorite drinks. He didn't drink, not really, and had a low tolerance for alcohol. He sipped the rum and coke given to him by Phasma politely but slowly. All the while, his neck tingled, and finally he risked a glance backwards towards the bar.

There he was, still looking in his direction. 

“Excuse me,” he turned back to the group, “I’m going to the restroom.” He nearly slammed the empty glass onto the wooden table between them all and stood quickly. He did a loop around the first floor, trying to cool off but there was nothing for it. Employee or not, this was unacceptable. Making sure that Phasma and the others were well involved with themselves, he stalked over to the far end of the bar where the man stood, standing impatiently next to an older man making his order.

Finally, what were actually brown eyes shot with gold slid over to him. Hux took in as many details as possible in the precious seconds before he was going to tell him to fuck off. Strong nose, pale skin with small moles flecked across his face and neck. Black hair that was almost shoulder length and was pushed back from his face by the persistence of fingers. Wide eyes, full lips. Well damn. 

“What can I get for you. Another rum and coke?” he asked, and his voice was deep and very alluring. Hux kicked himself mentally.

“What do you think you're doing.” asked Hux, putting steel into his suddenly wobbly voice.

“Me?” the man pointed to himself and gave a look of comedic confusion. 

“Don't act stupid.”

“Alright. If you want me to tell you, admiring.”

Hux blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

The lights shifted, playing over the man's face and casting shadows that made him look both menacing and ethereal. They settled back on red, giving his hair an unnatural dark glow.

While Hux processed a reply, the dark man leaned his elbow against the towel he’d placed on the bar. He cocked an eyebrow, waiting.

“I don't appreciate it.” 

“I do,” the man replied without pause, giving Hux an obvious onceover with his eyes. 

Hux clenched his jaw, there was no response that would goad him further. Who was this infuriating figure?

“Oh well,” the man said in a mock sigh, standing up and revealing his scant few inches of height over Hux. Hux very purposefully followed his face up and away from the black shirt straining across his chest. Without another word the man turned away and crossed the bar, engaging with another patron. 

What the actual fuck. Hux shook his head briskly, dislodging his hair from its perfect arrangement, and forced himself to return to the group.

X

Inadvertently, Hux couldn't help but keep looking at the bar. For a while the man was there, simply doing his job, and the watched feeling did not return. In his irritation he tossed back another drink, and felt the fuzz of being tipsy on the tip of his nose. Phasma looked at him fairly often, and he tried his best to wipe the anger off his face. Andron and Tarkin were oblivious, already into their fifth drink and ready to party. After a long while of getting distracted with dumb stories, he glanced back at the bar. The man was gone. He looked again an exact fifteen minutes later, still gone. That struck off the idea of a break. Maybe he went home. All the better, Hux thought, now he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. One more drink down by the trio minus Hux and they started needling him to go to another room. With obvious reluctance Hux was dragged back upstairs and into the large hall that housed the dancefloor. 

This room looked more like a castle than a manor, with a dark chain chandelier suspended from the ceiling, and the same rough stone as outside for the walls. The music was bass-heavy, thudding through him as he set eyes on people of all types moving on the floor. Diagonally from the floor was a closed bar in the shape of a polygon, with chairs most heavily placed on the far edge where people could watch those dancing. It was edging close to 1:00, and the room was lively and fairly full.

Tarkin made a real effort to get Hux onto the dancefloor, but he was adamant against it. He had only danced ballroom when he was younger, and hated that, why would he wiggle himself around in front of total strangers? Eventually, arms crossed, Hux convinced them to go ahead. With a “Whatever, man,” from Andron and a glace from Phasma, they disappeared into the writhing crowd. 

Hux cast about for a secluded place to sit, wait out the alcohol and wish he was in his bunk reading. His eyes tracked over the bar and ground to a halt. There he was, back to Hux, well built shoulders moving as he mixed several drinks at once. What the hell was he doing up here?

Against his better judgment, he sat at the bar, on the opposite end from where the other man was currently working. It was only a matter of time, he knew that, but the nagging little voice in his head would not shut up until he put his ass on that stool. He waved away a different bartender, an average looking woman with nice hair and a lot of tattoos, and made himself look busy watching anywhere but across from him.

He was actually somewhat engaged in watching a man with liberty spikes on the dancefloor when a low voice spoke up across the bartop. 

“Hello again. Can I get you anything?” Hux turned and there he was, towel now tossed over his shoulder and arms hanging loosely at his sides. 

“Are you following me?”

The man was surprised enough to laugh once. “I think it should be me asking you. I always have the late shift in the Throne Room.”

Hux scowled, unhappy about the entirely reasonable answer. “I'm not, obviously. My friends are over there.” He gestured briefly to the dancefloor, where he could just see Phasma’s platinum blonde head poking above the crowd. 

“Sure, sure.” The man didn't seem convinced. “I haven't seen you before. Come here often?”

The cheesy line had Hux almost snort. He held it in, going for a scoff instead. “No. I'm out on leave from the fort. They brought me here. It's not really my scene.” 

The man looked genuinely interested, and took a second to think. “You fit right in. Minus the hair, that’s unique to you.” 

Hux had to feel torn between being flattered and angry. Being ginger, he was utterly bored of hearing comments on his hair. However, when he said it, it sounded like he meant it, rather than like an offhand easy comment similar to “The weather is nice.” He was sure his hair was practically a beacon in the pointed club lights. It had recently undergone an unintentional lightening from long hours outside doing drills and cleaning ship decks. Where once it was a dark pumpkin orange it was now more like the fruit the color was named after, with small highlights of orange-blonde. It was still cut in a short, acceptably military style, the front dangling almost an inch above his eyes and faded to a buzz in the back. 

His outfit was unintentionally appropriate. Hux always had preferred dark colors, so if they'd gone here or to a preppy club on the water he still would have worn the black jeans and dark grey silky button down. He felt strangely overdressed, given the dancers in tutus and bikini tops, and men with fishnet shirts, but at least he wasn't wearing Oxfords. He had opted for a pair of grey suede ankle boots, composed yet casual. 

He avoided anything like taking his comments as a compliment. “Shouldn't you be working?” he evaded.

“I am working. There are other bartenders, and I'm getting you a drink.”

“Are you?”

“Mm.” The man hummed a reply, leaning to the side to scoop up a couple empty glasses from the table. He turned on the faucet tucked under the countertop to begin washing. It was such a simple task but Hux couldn't help but stare at his arms as he worked, the sleeves of his v-neck shirt messily shoved up to the elbows. 

The silence between them stretched, not uncomfortable but obvious. What was he supposed to say? He didn’t even know the man’s damn name.

Something landed in front of him and Hux pulled up from his own mind long enough to see the man’s hand retreating back behind the bar. In front of him sat a squat glass, filled with amber liquid. 

“What is this?”

“Drink it, you’ll like it.”

“Will I?”

“I have an eye for people’s tastes.” The man smirked, a quick tilt of the lips that had Hux’s heart skipping a beat. 

“How much is it?” 

The man rolled his eyes, making it obvious he knew that Hux was being difficult on purpose. “Fuck, it’s on the house so,”

The blush flooded back to Hux’s cheeks and crept back towards his ears. He knew it was, it had been apparent when he hadn’t ordered anything, but hearing him say it was the proverbial nail in the coffin. Unfortunately, Hux was determined to claw his way out. He would not be taken in by some pretty boy who knew how to mix a drink and smile just right. He picked up the drink, and, without the forethought for his safety, took a sip.

Like his father always told him, he let it sit in his mouth, didn’t shotgun it like a teenager. He moved it around, and a explosion of complimentary flavors emerged. Smoky, with herb flavors and even a hint of cinnamon, its bitterness was toned down by a vague sweetness and a quick spark of orange flavoring. He felt his mouth warm, and let it slide down his throat. He knew it wasn’t really happening, but his chest seemed to warm as the drink went down, spreading out from his ribs and through to his fingertips. He looked up to see the man watching him closely, an expression that was intent but a little bit unsure etched onto his face. It was so easy to read him, and he’d known him a total of -he glanced at his wristwatch, a delicate gold item with minimal numbers- two and a half hours. 

Dammit. 

“You’re certainly skilled. Thank you.” He watched the man’s lips split into an undeniably adorable grin and knew he needed to extract himself immediately. He picked up the glass and the napkin underneath in one hand, and stood from the chair. He wasn’t running, it was a tactical retreat from an unknown threat. Bringing the drink only made sense, it was extremely good. He dropped his eyes and turned, disappearing into the crowd, but he didn’t see the man’s smile falter at all. 

X

Hux sat in a high backed velvet chair across the large room, the mass of bodies between him and the bartender. He’d been tasting the cocktail in small sips, delighting in it every time. It was only when he got near the bottom he noticed two things: a pair of connected maraschino cherries, and a blurred black smudge on the bottom of the glass.

He felt his heart begin to thud in his chest and not from the music. Had that man put something in the drink? He didn’t feel strange, but then again he wasn’t very skilled at being inebriated, so how would he know? He looked around, searching for Phasma’s pale head in the crowd, and didn’t identify it. Damn. His free hand went to the important task of rummaging in his pocket for his phone to call her, she was much more likely to answer than Andron or Tarkin. As he did his hand shifted, and the napkin fluttered off the bottom of the glass and into his lap.

He stopped, staring blankly at the piece of damp paper. With a clink he put the glass on a table and snatched it up. On the paper were words, scribbled in black ink and somewhat smudged, nearly impossible to read due to the poor handwriting and moving lights. Hux squinted.

meet me at the emergency exit of the throne room at 115 -Kylo  
He looked at his watch and almost flew out of his chair, it was 1:12 in the morning. He forced himself to stay down. Why the hell would he go running to meet a strange man who had stared at him half the night, and teased him the other half? Hux had dignity, it didn’t matter how attractive the dark-haired man was, he didn’t need to get sucked into his game. 

But that wasn’t really the problem was it? Hux had always had a problem with allowing himself anything. It was always push harder, do better, leave the little things behind. The man had initiated, and Hux had played along. This wasn’t about pride. It was about control. Fuck it. He got up, tucking the napkin into his pocket, and started walking along the wall, eyes peeled for a red sign.

X

“I didn’t think it would be like you to be late.” 

Another glance at his watch: 1:17. “You don’t know what I’m like.”

Kylo was leaned against the stone next to the exit door, fingers tapping to the rhythm of the music blaring out of a nearby speaker. They were nearly surrounded by people this close to the DJ booth, and Hux had to get fairly close to hear him at all. It was easy, though, to see Kylo’s face shift from cocky to contemplative. “You’re right, I don’t.” Then he lifted up from the wall and turned to the door, hand resting on the smooth wood. “C’mon.”

This was the moment. Hux could disappear into the crowd again, find Phasma, and go the fuck back to the fort. Or he could find out what was behind that door. The door began to crack open, and he followed.

Cool air hit his face, along with the smell of impending rain. That wasn’t a guarantee, it always smelled like rain on some level this close to the bay. Hux took a deep breath, reveling in the freshness after sitting in the body-filled, too-warm rooms for hours. It was surprisingly bright, with the two of them being nearly eye level with the tops of the globe-shaped street lamps across the avenue. They were bathed in a soft white glow, and when the door closed behind them it was almost quiet, with only the low undertone of distant bass and the occasional sounds of people below. 

They were on a decently sized balcony, with a rough wood floor and black ornate fencing. There was a set of stairs leading to the ground that was chained off at the bottom, and did not look nearly as themed as the rest of the balcony. He looked at Kylo, who leaned against the railing in the corner. He seemed to like leaning, and must have had some idea of how it flattered his waist and hips. Rummaging in a little black leather pouch looped onto his belt, Kylo came out with a single cigarette and a lighter and stuck the stick between his lips.

In the span of a second, Hux had taken the two steps to stand in front of the man and plucked the cigarette from his lips, flicking it over the edge to tumble down the two stories. “No.”

Kylo only seemed mildly disturbed by the fact Hux had just thrown away a pricey, perishable object of addiction. “No?”

“Disgusting habit. I’ll go back inside.”

Kylo shrugged, “It passes the time. But I guess I’ll need something else, then.”

“Damn right.” Hux watched in slow motion as Kylo reached for him, lighter still caught between two fingers, and laid his hands upon Hux’s waist. To stifle the embarrassment he looked into Kylo’s face, the streetlamp making a halo glow behind his head. Then it was gone as Kylo leaned in, tugging the redhead closer and Hux let his eyes drop closed. 

Kylo’s lips felt just about as good as they looked. Which was saying a lot, as they looked very, very nice. Hux let himself be pulled, shuffling his feet up to stand between Kylo’s, the two of them balancing precariously on Kylo’s contact with the railing. They began slow, mapping each other out, trying to figure out how the other kissed. Hux hadn’t had much practice in the last few years, and adapted quickly to the other man’s style of broad tongue swipes and tendency to nibble. After a few minutes they separated, Kylo holding tight to Hux’s sides as they both breathed. 

“Don’t you have to go back to work soon?” asked Hux, unabashedly staring at Kylo’s reddened lips. He could give as good as he got, if Kylo wanted to bite. 

“No, I took the rest of the night off.” Kylo looked very much like he wanted to stop talking and return to kissing.

“You were so sure I’d meet you.”

“You did.”

Hux swallowed down a childish retort. What was is about this man that made him want to bicker? To fight without claws? He suddenly thought that maybe it was a good idea if they stopped talking, before Hux made a fool of himself. “I did.”

He then slid his hands up under Kylo’s shirt, really just pushing up the fabric that barely fit him. His fingers hit rigid planes of muscle and he bit back a small gasp. Hux himself wasn’t untoned by any means, able to keep up without a struggle during drills, but he knew officers that were much less solid. He caught Kylo’s sly grin and abruptly kissed him again. His hands wandered, while Kylo simply dug his fingers almost painfully into Hux’s sides. That was fine. When his thin fingers brushed over Kylo’s nipples he caught a low short moan between their mouths. Hux could feel Kylo’s growing erection between their bodies and knew he wasn’t in much better shape. 

Of course, his phone then rang, buzzing through his pants. With an irritated sound, he broke from Kylo to fish it out. The other man looked incredulous. “Oh hush.” commanded Hux.

It was Phasma, and belatedly he realized it was almost 1:45, and the club was likely beginning to user out the patrons. 

“It’s my friend.” he said, the word feeling strange but good. “We drove together.” He then typed out a quick message once the phone went to voicemail, and dropped it back out of sight.

“Shouldn’t you go?” inquired Kylo, the question layered with clear reluctance, his hands still hanging tight on Hux’s now rumpled shirt. 

It was Hux’s turn to grin, and Kylo’s eyes widened. “I’ll take a cab.”

“I’ll pay for the one to my place.” replied Kylo, only barely asking. 

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Want to talk about the glory of kylux? Hit me up: vmprsm.tumblr.com
> 
> Edit: im gonna be a nice person and throw some extra details at you :)  
> The drink kylo makes is a manhattan: whiskey, sweet vermouth, bitters, and orange zest. I had to do a ridiculous amount of research to figure out what its supposed to taste like.  
> Hux is in the Navy! Yay, ships. Yay, Florida.  
> Listen, this fic is inspired by a real club that plays a lot of electro-industrial music that the kylux fandom seems to think is the dirtiest, most bdsm thing ever. I could even make a playlist haha


End file.
